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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23594536">He Used To Be Mine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac_hoe_no/pseuds/Drac_hoe_no'>Drac_hoe_no</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Firefly [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek &amp; Paul/Levenson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Death, Depressed Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Evan is Trying His Best, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Treebros, bipolar connor murphy, but with Connor, this is like a twist of she used to be mine, this is quite sad, trigger warning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:00:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23594536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac_hoe_no/pseuds/Drac_hoe_no</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Connor and Evan to the lyrics of ‘She Used To Be Mine’ from Waitress.</p>
<p>Trigger warning, don’t read.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>You don’t HAVE to read the previous work in this series for this fic to make sense but it would probably make it easier to understand.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evan Hansen &amp; Connor Murphy, Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Firefly [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698352</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>He Used To Be Mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not simple to say</p>
<p>Most days, I don’t recognise me</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor splashed a handful of cold water in his face to wake him up, when he caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror he felt like crying. He looked like shit. Worse that shit, in fact. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hair was long, greasy and knotted. He didn’t know it had gotten like that since he was showering at least twice a day, not to clean or anything, he was just bored. Connor had always been rather lucky with his skin, hardly ever having acne but now it was ghostly pale, the only colour being the deep shade of brown under his eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rest of his appearance wasn’t any better, his lips, once always moving from where he spoke so much, were chapped and not the usual blush pink he’d grown used to. He hadn’t gotten dressed in around three days, he was wearing sweatpants and his regular black hoodie, the garments were wrinkled from where he’d slept and they probably smelled disgusting to somebody who actually gave a fuck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The truth was, he’d given up. Long ago. He couldn’t even remember how it had happened, he just didn’t care. About anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Cynthia’s friends always said I was a little heartbreaker, he mused with a self deprecating laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s not easy to know </p>
<p>I’m not anything, like I used to be</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mum, hey mum” seven year old Connor chanted, tapping Cynthia in the shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, honey?” She replied, looking away from where she was chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter to gaze down at her son.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why did the chicken cross the road?” He asked, blue/brown irises beaming.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cynthia hummed, pausing to think to herself, “I don’t know, sweetheart. Why?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“To get away from the people who don’t stop making jokes about them!” He laughed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cynthia chuckled to herself as she watched her young son run upstairs, probably to tell Larry. He was such a happy little boy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Although it’s true,</p>
<p>I was never attentions sweet centre</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How’s Connor doing?” Larry asked, sitting down next to his wife and opposite the teacher. It was Parents Evening and the couple were talking to Connor’s teacher whilst the ten year old boy was playing airplanes with Zoe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wonderfully.” The teacher smiled warmly, “He’s incredibly bright, you must be so proud of him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We are,” Cynthia hurried to say, exchanging a delighted look with her husband, “We always were.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Although” she paused, “He seems to be a tad on the shy side.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cynthia laughed breathlessly, “He’s never been a fan of the spotlight.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I still remember that boy</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Connor, Zoe please be careful!” Cynthia exclaimed from the kitchen, seeing her son run past with Zoe on his back, both giggling their hearts out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t worry, mum!” Connor replied as Zoe screeched with delight, “We’re safe.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s imperfect</p>
<p>But he tries </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Looking at himself in the mirror wasn’t really something he did very often. But he had caught sight of someone starring back at him and Connor didn’t recognise who that person was. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hair was gross. </p>
<p>His clothes were dirty.</p>
<p>He hadn’t showered properly for a while.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was disgusting and ugly and he didn’t know how to fix it, as much as he wanted to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is good</p>
<p>But he lies</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor had been feeling off for a while. Not sick or ill or even tired. Just... off. His grades were slipping and he knew he was snapping at Zoe more often but he couldn’t help it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He just felt so angry and confused and hurt and he didn’t know what was wrong with him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Cynthia asked one evening, “You’ve been very quiet lately.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor smiled tightly, “I’m fine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is hard on himself</p>
<p>He is broken and won’t ask for help </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sobbed as he slashed the knife down his wrist again and again. The cuts were jagged and awkward and messy but he was doing something and he could feel something. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor didn’t want to start cutting but the sting of the blade and the warm red liquid running down his arms made him feel something, who cares if that something hurt him? </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is messy</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thundered around his room, vision red and blurry with the rage that enthralled him. Connor paced the perimeter of the medium sized bedroom, throwing scathing glares at the blue walls that he’d once been over the moon to have. Hours and hours spent with Cynthia and Larry helping out with kiddy paintbrushes, and for what?! It was a just a wall! Just a room! It didn’t matter! Nothing did, the colour of his bedroom didn’t change a single factor in his life. It could have been bright, neon pink and he’d still be in this same fucking position! Depressed, suicidal, bipolar, angry, helpless and just overall god damn sad! </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor barely managed to muffle a frustrated scream into his fist before punching a hole into those stupid blue walls. It had made a rather impressive dent, but it wasn’t enough. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pretty soon all the books that decorated his shelves were thrown across the floor, pillow cases violently ripped, sketches and homework that littered his floor were ripped up and fell around the floor like snow, he ripped his blinds down causing a satisfying crash and lastly he slammed his wardrobe door closed with such strength the hinges flew off and the door fell to the wooden floor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Keep it the fuck down!” Zoe yelled from her room next door. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shut up!” He shouted, exhaustion evident in his voice. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey!” Larry shouter back from downstairs, “Don’t tell your sister to shut up!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was a breaking point for Connor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t tell my sister to shut up?!” He asked, practically out of the tarnished room, the door hitting the walls as he flung it open, “I’LL TELL THAT BITCH TO SHUT UP IF I FUCKING WANT TO, ARSEHOLE!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Larry didn’t respond but Zoe’s bedroom door was open and Connor saw her sitting on the floor, eyes wide, lips quivering. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The fuck are you looking at?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She rolled her eyes, “Connor, calm the hell down.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Calm down?” He laughed ironically, “You’re asking me to calm down?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.” Zoe replied. She looked so small. So young.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh sure! Not ‘cause you actually care or anything, no! But because tomorrow you can tell all your friends that your big bad brother scared you and you tried to be a brave little heroine and told the school shooter to ‘calm down’ IS THAT IT?!” He screamed, balling up his fists and breathing heavily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew he was being ridiculous, he was putting words in her mouth but he didn’t care. He’d had enough. Enough of everyone treating him like a ticking fucking time bomb. Well, guess what? Bombs blow up if you don’t defuse them in time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zoe gasped, knowing that when Connor got like this there was nothing left she could do. She jumped up, looking like a kicked puppy and slammed the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he’s kind</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor felt awful for yelling at Zoe. She didn’t deserve it, she didn’t deserve any of the shit he constantly put her through.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He snuck into her bedroom, later than night when he knew everyone in the house was sleeping. He missed being in her room and laughing with her, swapping stories from school. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he saw Zoe, his little sister who he’d always wanted to protect, fast asleep but her eyebrows were drawn together and even in her state of sleep she was tense and on edge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All because of him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sniffed, gently pushing the hair off her face. Tears tracking their way down his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he whispered, bending down to kiss her on the forehead. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn’t matter, nobody knew he was sorry and that he loved his family with everything he had because by the time morning came they would all be arguing and screaming over the breakfast table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is lonely </p>
<p>Most of the time</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor slammed his bedroom door shut and leaned against it. The cool wooden frame against his back grounded him as he breathed deeply. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another day of school had gone by which meant another day had gone by where he didn’t talk to anyone. They were all just so afraid of the ‘school shooter’. He didn’t mind it. He’d probably be afraid if he saw himself, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But that didn’t stop the overwhelming feeling of loneliness that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just one person, he begged silently, please can he just have one person to lean on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is gone</p>
<p>But he used to be mine</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We are very blessed, you know.” Cynthia said one evening, sitting down next to her husband after she’d tucked the kids into bed. “Lorraine said her two children fight and bicker constantly. We’re lucky Connor and Zoe get on so well.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Larry grinned, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. “Well they’re being raised by the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. How could our children be any different?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And now I’ve got you</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, Hansen.” Connor called, “Come here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Evan poked his head round from the kitchen, “What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor said nothing, instead pouncing on the blonde boy and hugging him tightly. Both boys were laughing hysterically as they fell over in each other’s arms and onto the kitchen floor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Connor, what t-the hell!” Evan exclaimed, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry.” He replied, a grin still spread across his features. “I just love you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Evan smiled back at him, “I love you, t-too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And you’re not what I asked for</p>
<p>If I’m honest, I know I would give it all back</p>
<p>For a chance to start over </p>
<p>And rewrite an ending or two</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"H-Hi." Someone stuttered and Connor was pulled out of his detachment to stand up properly and see who the fuck was talking to him now. It was a boy, around his age, short and blond with a blue polo shirt and brown khakis.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hi?" Connor asked, an eyebrow raised and he was probably being rude but did he care?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe a bit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"S-Sorry." The boy began, "Its j-just you looked, um, well I saw y-you crying and-"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm sorry," Connor interrupted in the most unapologetic tone, "But who are you?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Evan Hansen."</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>For the boy that I knew </p>
<p>Who’ll be reckless, just enough</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stuck his arms out on either side of him for balance as he walked on the edge of a fence at the sea side. He saw Zoe and Larry walking ahead, the five year old girl walking along slowly hand in hand with her dad. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Connor,” Cynthia said, she had hung back and was watching out for her son in case he fell off, “Please get down from there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He giggled, “Don’t worry, mum! I’m safe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Who’ll get hurt</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Loving the new haircut, Connor.” Jared Kleinman snarked, “very school shooter chic.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor glared, he wasn’t about to let Jared see how badly that comment hurt him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But who learns how to toughen up</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It... was a joke.” Jared said, he looked nervous now. As did everyone else Connor made contact with. Because who fucking wouldn’t be nervous?! He was disgusting and dangerous and obviously people were afraid of him!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh no it was funny, can’t you tell?” He asked, slowly walking closer to him so their noses were almost touching. “Am I not laughing hard enough for you?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jared laugher, “You’re such a freak.” He said before getting away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor closed his eyes and sighed heavily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he’s bruised</p>
<p>And gets used by a man who can’t love</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Larry shouted. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know!” Connor screamed back, desperately. He didn’t even know what they were fighting about this time, “I’m not... right. I need help!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re fine, you’re just looking for attention.” Larry snapped. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor slammed his bedroom door shut and sobbed heavily. He just wanted things to get better but all they ever did was get worse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then he’ll get stuck</p>
<p>And be scared of the life that’s inside him</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zoe really was the best sister Connor could ever wish to have. No matter how much shit he put her through, she was always there after it all. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor had come home late again, inducing yet another screaming match with both of their parents and Zoe had come into it all to stand up for her brother. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>An hour had passed since then and the Murphy children were sitting on Zoe’s bed, leaning against the headboard, Zoe had her arm around Connor as he cried silently. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They were only children! Connor was fucking fifteen years old for fucksake so why did no one listen to him when he said there was something wrong? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” Zoe repeated, desperately trying to console him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I just don’t want to live anymore.” He sobbed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Growing stronger each day, till it finally reminds him</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You should just off yourself, the voice said, nobody would miss you, nobody would care. They'd probably be relieved.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Shut up, shut up." Connor repeated over and over again, voice muffled and thick with emotion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Look at you, it didn't work the first time, did it? Because you were too weak. Because you were a coward, you didn't try hard enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Try again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Fuck off." He whispered, gripping the sheets of his bed with shaking fingers trying to ground himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>To fight, just a little</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Connor I want you to know that I absolutely, whole heartedly believe that you will get better and you will be happy and living an amazing life soon.” Paul said, sincerely. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor just shrugged. He wanted that more than anything but it seemed so far away and the road to get to where he wanted to be was rocky and dangerous and it terrified him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he was willing to try.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>To bring back the fire in his eyes</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t want to get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, talk to anyone, look at anything, face his own reflection in the mirror. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor didn’t want to do anything, he could feel himself slipping, all the effort he’d been making with Paul was falling out of reach. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But no matter how hard it was for him or how much he didn’t want to, Connor got up and got dressed in clean clothes and washed his face and he skipped breakfast but that could be worked on. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he did it all for Evan. Because Evan was the only person Connor was working for and he would continue to do so until they could be happy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s been gone</p>
<p>But used to be mine</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hated pictures. And that sucked because Cynthia had dozens, possibly hundreds, of them hanging around the house. Pictures of him and Zoe from when they were young and carefree, pictures of Cynthia and Larry back when their marriage wasn’t falling apart, pictures of them all together when they all loved each other and nothing could break up their tight family bond. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>All it did was make Connor remember and he didn’t want to remember. He knew that once upon a time Larry would tell him bedtime stories and play stupid kiddy games with him and Cynthia would let Connor help her bake cakes or biscuits and watch movies with him until he fell asleep and Zoe would plead with him for a piggy back and they would run around the house screaming and laughing together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It hurt to remember, and that was probably why Connor tried so hard to forget. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Used to be mine  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zoe had her arms around her knees and her head leaning against her bedroom door as she sobbed quietly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She didn’t know what had happened to Connor. She always thought it had happened over night, her fun happy big brother had turned into this short tempered, angry, depressed person who she didn’t recognise. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But now, looking back, there were signs long ago. Connor didn’t want to join in on their skiing trip, okay fine he’s just a moody teenager. Connor didn’t want to get out of bed, well he’s just lazy. Connor fought with Cynthia and Larry well maybe he’s just had a rough day and had to take it out on someone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They had all misread the signs so terribly, everyone thought Connor was a typical teenager but no. Connor was seriously depressed and probably had something else going on as well and they did nothing to help him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She missed him. But not the angry Connor, she missed the way he would play video games with her and every time Zoe so much as mentioned a boys name, even as just a friend, he would threaten to give the boy ‘the talk’ and they would sleep in each other’s rooms on Christmas Eve or he would distract her whilst their parents were screaming at each other. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor Murphy wasn’t as broken as they all wanted him to be, but he had spent so much of his life listening to how he ruined everything that he started to believe it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is messy </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Connor, sweetheart."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Here we go, Connor thought grimly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cynthia took in a deep breath, "I- we love you, you know that? And, we want what's best for you. That means that... we want- need you to be safe. Do you understand?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn't say anything, he didn't even look at her but he knew from the tone of her voice that she was battling against tears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I think you should go back to therapy." She stated, abruptly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor snapped his head up to stare at his mother in disbelief, "What?" He said with a slight sneer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It's what we think is best for you." Cynthia insisted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gave a humourless chuckle, "No it's what's best for you isn't it? You don't want your friends thinking you've got a fucked up kid so you're trying to fix him." He narrowed his eyes, "Well I am fucked up, okay?! And no amounts of goddamn therapy is going to fix that!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You didn't give it a fair shot last time, Connor." She explained, desperately, the tears were now flowing freely down her face and it caused Connor's stomach to twist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It didn't work." He seethed through gritted teeth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he’s kind</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cynthia was busy putting away laundry, she walked past Zoe’s bedroom and smiled to herself when she heard not just Zoe’s voice but Connor’s as well. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A couple of moments eavesdropping taught her that, not only were her children being civil with each other, but it also seemed that Connor was actually helping Zoe with some of her homework. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn’t a surprise, Connor was a very clever student when he actually put the effort in and the sound of the two of them laughing about shared teachers and helping one another was what helped Cynthia get to sleep that night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is lonely </p>
<p>Most of the time</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He screamed into his pillow, refusing to let the mass of cries consume him. Instead, he reached blindly for the razor that he kept in the bedside drawer. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That voice was back. It was always there, in the background, it seemed so much louder now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gasping for breath, Connor roughly pulled up his sleeve, slightly grazing the skin with the rough material as he did so, he pressed the razor to a somewhat blissful amount of pain into his wrist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Do it, the voice said, it’ll be easy. Just... drag it up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And so he did. It didn’t even hurt. Well, perhaps it did, he just didn’t recognise it. He never did anymore, it was like watching himself from someone else’s perspective, he didn’t even feel like he was doing it. He had no control. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He watched unresponsively as the blood gathered and spurted from a freshly cut vein. The thick scarlet liquid ran down his hand, it seemed lost now that it had been diverged from its path, Connor almost felt sorry for it but how fucked up was that? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tried to grab the tissues he used from the usual, embarrassing routine of... this to clean himself up but when he stood up the from the bed he swayed and suddenly felt rather lightheaded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He, instead, used the hem of his top to dab at the blood in an attempt to clean it up, but it didn’t appear to be stopping. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” he mumbled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The voice was back, telling him to just lay down and close his eyes. Just go to sleep. It’ll all be over if you just go to sleep, the world would be better, you wouldn’t be such a burden to everybody. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close your goddamn eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Connor barely registered his phone go off, it’s a text from Evan “are you safe?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t reply. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wouldn’t know what to say, didn’t want Evan to worry, wasn’t able to pick up his phone from the shaking of his pale hands. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He paused. They’d never been that pale before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You know what that means, the grating voice sneered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” he mumbled again, firmer this time, “No, stop, I take it back, stop.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gathered all of his strength and, somehow, some fucking how, heaved his sorry arse from his room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where was he going? He didn’t know, he wasn’t completely sure he wanted to know. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Soon enough, without really realising it, his legs had taken control and he leaned up against Zoe’s bedroom door, weight falling heavily on the old wood dotted with doodles and markings of heights from when they were little. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When did he start crying?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Zoe!” He screamed, pounding on the door, “Help me, please, I can’t-“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Go away, Connor.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I take it back, fuck PLEASE!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can’t take this back Connor.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His pounding is getting lighter, his vision is swaying, theres a pool of blood gathering at the floor where he sat leaning against the wall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“PLEASE! HELP ME! I’m fucking sorry, please,” his throat was raw and the yelling hurt. But he knew what was coming, black spots were seeping into his vision. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Evan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I take it back,” he sobbed against the wall, ceased banging and just laying the hand on the wall. “I fucking take it back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t care.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Evan Hansen stood in front of all the people who had turned up for Connor’s funeral, family, a few family friends and Evan was right, there was a few people from school there who pretended to know Connor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He took a shaky breath, trying hard not to think about the casket behind him where the absolute love of his life lay, cold and alone. The q cards clutched tightly in his hands where his speech was written fell to floor and Evan looked up, crying so hard no sound came out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“C-Connor Murphy is gone, but h-he used to be m-mine.”</p>
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